


Fucking Amateurs

by hurricanine



Category: Grand Theft Auto V
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-19
Updated: 2013-11-19
Packaged: 2018-01-02 00:57:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,685
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1050618
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hurricanine/pseuds/hurricanine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This had to be some kind of twisted joke – either that or karmic retribution for the many wrongdoings in his life. Out of all the banks in Los Santos, he had to walk into this one, didn't he?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fucking Amateurs

**Author's Note:**

> Written to fill the lovely Synekdokee's prompt: AU where Michael (and Trevor perhaps as well) end up caught in the middle of a bank robbery. Maybe they’re casing the place to rob it themselves, or maybe they have legit business there. They’re unarmed (Michael’d probably be mad about leaving his gun home/in the car), but if some silly little punks think they’re gonna hold Michael Townley and Trevor Philips as hostages, they got another thing coming. Cue middle-aged BAMFery. Bonus points if the robbers eventually realise exactly who they’ve been messing with. They either get shit scared, or they get cocky, making it even more delicious when Mikey and Trevor hand their asses to them.

They'd had their eyes on the place for a week. The bank was just within the outer limits of Los Santos, the sort of place where arthritic retirees stashed their retirement pensions and yuppies stored their investment funds. A few grand from the front and a quarter million from the vault; it was more than Scott had ever dreamed of while robbing gas marts and liquor stores. And yeah, the bank was closer to the police station than he would have liked, but their driver had assured him that the streets would be gridlocked around this time of day and they'd be halfway across San Andreas before the cops could even pull out of the precinct.

The parking lot was mostly empty; there were the few vehicles belonging to the bank's staff, as well as a minivan, a shiny convertible with the top down, and sleek-looking black Tailgater. Good, good. Hostages, but not enough to be a hassle keeping under control. Their driver sidled the car up against the curb and Scott pulled on his mask, glancing over as his partner did the same. James was practically vibrating in his seat; adrenaline was better than any drug they'd managed to get their hands on in the alley behind their apartment.

“Hope you're ready, Langley,” James said, grinning through the slit in his ski mask. Scott nodded and they surged out of the car, sprinting the short length of the sidewalk and kicking open the glass doors. His heart hammered out a staccato rhythm in his chest, his face already a little clammy and sticky with sweat beneath the ski mask. He took a deep breath and lifted his sawed-off shotgun, shouldering the recoil as he shot out the camera over the door.

“Everybody on the floor! This is a robbery!”

\- - -

Michael should have known better than to think the day might have gone according to plan. It was simply not how his life went, after all. He wasn't allowed to have normal, boring, average days – especially not when Trevor Philips showed up at his doorstep before dawn, with a gleam in his eye and a restless energy that spelled out certain disaster for anyone unfortunate enough to get in his way. Michael had resigned himself to a day of keeping the other man out of trouble (at least, any sort of trouble that would get himself, by extension, into trouble), but he made the rookie mistake of still intending to follow through with his own plans.

Stupid, _stupid_ rookie mistake.

The bank was nothing special, certainly not enough to draw his interest after their hit on the Union Depository. Nevertheless, old habits died hard, and Michael casually scoped out the place as they waited in the queue behind a mother with a screaming toddler and a whining five-year-old. He briefly met the woman's tired eyes and felt a surge of sympathy; Trevor was equal to about three screaming toddlers, and he couldn't even keep him on a leash (psycho would enjoy that far too much).

Security was low and the layout left so many gaps in surveillance that it was physically painful. Just as Michael was thinking to remark to Trevor how lucky they would have been to find a place like this when they were starting off, the explosion of a gunshot went off behind his head.

He hit the floor on instinct and his hand went to the waistband of his dress pants, where his pistol was... in the glove compartment of the car. _Goddammit_. Well, that's what he fucking got for being a law-abiding citizen.

“Don't fucking move!” Michael watched the two robbers as they stalked through the bodies huddled on the floor. The one with the sawed-off shotgun went up to the counter, shouting at the teller until the woman trembled with fright; the other one, who had yet to speak, seemed to be having the time of his life waving the business end of an assault rifle in the young mother's face. She was holding her kids to her chest so tightly Michael wondered if they could breathe, but at least they had stopped screaming.

Without drawing attention, Michael glanced around the room. Where the hell was Trevor? That alone was cause to worry; this could just amount to a minor inconvenience as long as the meth-addict didn't do anything stupid. Wait a minute, this was Trevor he was talking about – _of course_ he was going to do something stupid.

The shotgun toting robber had returned, trying to carry two duffel bags of money and somehow still hold his gun steady. Michael rolled his eyes; he felt sorry for the future of the criminal world if _these_ two were all it had to offer. Still, it wasn't quite as ridiculous as the robber with the rifle. The gun was needlessly big for this sort of job, with a scope and an extended magazine that made Michael wonder if the man was over-compensating.

“Wait a second... I know this guy.” It was the first time Mr. Tiny Penis had opened his mouth; he sounded young and every ounce as cocksure as Michael had been at his age. The robber nudged him with the toe of his boot and Michael unwillingly looked up. The kid gaped at him, then looked over to his partner. “Scott, do you have any idea who this is?”

The other robber, presumably Scott, whipped around, teeth bared through the hole in his mask. “You fucking idiot - I said no names!”

“It's Michael fucking Townley!” Tiny Penis let out a crow of laughter. “Shit, I'd heard the rumors, but- Scott, bro, you have any idea how much this guy's worth? We're gonna be rich!”

Great. Fan- _fucking_ -tastic. This day just kept getting better and better!

The robber knocked the side of the rifle against Michael's head, not hard enough to daze him but enough to make him wince. “C'mon, get on your feet, _Mister_ _Townley_ ,” he said, tone oozing with contempt. Michael glowered up at him – fucking kids these days, ungrateful little shits, they were all the same – but he slowly stood and turned to face the robbers.

“You're making a mistake,” he said lowly. The robber with the shotgun, still struggling under the weight of their payload, kept glancing between his partner, Michael, and the exit.

“J, we got what we came for, let's go.”

 _Yes, listen to your friend, you dumbfuck_. _You might even get out of here alive_.

“Fuck off, Scott. This guy's a fuckin' legend! He's _loaded_. We're gonna take him for all he's got.” The robber smirked and prodded Michael's chest with the tip of the rifle.

Michael resisted the urge to roll his eyes – a good thing, too, because he would have missed the blur of ratty clothing and hard muscle that was Trevor charging across the bank lobby. In a single, fluid move, Trevor slammed his fist into the back of the robber's neck, then grabbed him and threw him bodily to the floor. Within seconds Trevor had wrestled the gun out of the kid's hands and slammed it into his face with enough force to splatter blood across the tiled floor.

Never one to waste an opportunity, Michael swung his fist and sent the other robber reeling. Somehow, Scott managed to keep his grip on the shotgun, but he didn't last long with the cash weighing him down. Michael tore the gun from his grasp and shoved the kid to his knees. The other hostages began rising to shaky feet, until Michael turned the gun on them and stopped them in their tracks with an icy glare.

Satisfied that they would not trouble him, Michael gazed down the sleek length of the gun and nudged the sawed-off tip beneath the kid's chin. Poor thing looked like he was about to shit himself – out of fear or admiration, Michael didn't know. “You forget a thousand things every day, kid. Make sure this...” He paused and carefully reigned in the ridiculously smug sensation that was threatening to show on his face. “Make sure this _isn't_ one of them, got it?” The kid started nodding and he jammed the barrel of the gun against his throat, making him squeak. “No one fucks with Michael Townley.”

He stepped back and glanced over at Trevor, who was straddling the second gunman's chest and gleefully bashing away at the front of his face with the butt of the rifle. “C'mon, T. Think he's had enough. At least leave him with enough face to be ID'ed.”

Trevor narrowed his eyes, but scrambled to his feet and cradled the rifle in his arms like a child might a brand new doll. “Hey, he was gonna hold you for ransom. Just doing my civic duty!”

“Right, like the last time I got kidnapped and held for ransom?” Michael leveled him with a flat stare, then jerked his head towards the door. “Let's get out of here.” As much as he wanted to be the big damn hero, the stupid punks knew who they were and it wasn't worth the risk.

They were out the door before Michael noticed the duffel bag slung over Trevor's back. “Really, T?”

“You know what they say about gift horses, Mikey.”

“You're fucking insane.”

There was a car idling near the side entrance; Michael watched the driver fidget in his seat until he finally glanced over. The kid – he couldn't have been older than Jimmy - blinked owlishly at the two of them, then scrambled to put the car in drive. Trevor smirked and aimed down the sights of the rifle, blowing out the getaway car's tires with two squeezes of the trigger.

The car was still struggling to roll out onto the street as the cops swarmed around the building; Michael and Trevor were long gone, pedal to the floor as they tore down the Great Ocean Highway.

 

Heist Passed

_________________________________

             Fucking Amateurs              


Take                      $250,000

Michael's Cut         $125,000

                                 -Sanity

Trevor's Cut          $125,000

                  + Shiny new gun

Making a Withdrawal        |X|

Catchphrase                     |X|

Quick Getaway        00:45 |X|

_________________________________

       Completion – Gold 100%         


 

**Author's Note:**

> The moronic bank robbers are my own original characters, Scott Langley and James Eaglin, who feature in a few of my short stories. They weren't exactly delighted to make their cameos here, but I took a great deal of sick pleasure in it, and that's all that really matters. :D Hope the prompt fill was satisfactory~


End file.
